


folklore

by twilightrain



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightrain/pseuds/twilightrain
Summary: hello people, it's my first fanfic i ever created in life, first yumefic, and my first ao3 debutin sum up this is the zeath fic (my yume/self-ship fic, of me and heathcliff blanchett from mhyk) that i been promisedi cant believe i did thisAnyway pls listen to seven by taylor swift bcs thats literally the entire theme of this fic[Edit]Okay but how can ppl outside those who i sent the link to found this? GET AWAY IM EMBARRASSED MSNSKS 😭😭😭
Relationships: just my yume shits
Kudos: 6





	1. folklore

There’s an unending sound that the eastern wind brought in the cold dawn of the summer, the first three days after a long solitude spring on the road paved to faraway home. Neither both of them would think before that they’d be here, incandescently happy. And under the giant haunting willow where its leaves hanging like a curtain, the wind’s rustles so perfectly clear now, voices of hope and dreams and promises of tomorrow, it tells her to wake up.

She felt dewy wildflower touched her skin first, a whirling wind then, and a hand that grasped her tightly. A heartbeat so familiar she could know it in her death. “Heathcliff, love,” she whispered gently, “let’s go back home you’d catch a cold.”

Heathcliff rose up, sat under the giant willow tree, his messy hair tangled in flower crown she made for him yet he didn’t look like someone who actually fell asleep, she thought he just laid there soundlessly—absolutely didn’t remember how can even his clothes looks messy, half unbuttoned.

Yet over the sight before her, it was his eyes that captivated her. A strong dark blue like a sea that reflects a night sky across a far-wide horizon, she thought every time how much she looked into that eyes, every day and every second of her life, and it still the same as the way she looked at it for the first time.

For him, in all Heathcliff’s life, he used to everyone throwing a gaze at him, complimenting him, wondering how it feels like to love him, yet it only hers that could made him like this, of how it took his breath away, of how he never feels so loved. Other might said that they loved him dearly, yet no one could ever do things the way she did to him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, startled her.

Heathcliff, short-breathed, then exhaled, “Kiss me.”

So far as the wind blew its biggest mystery in the universe, she wondered that time, that they’ve been here few times, yet on this hill under the seemingly greenish sky of dawn how it felt like the sky and the earth speaks to them by playing thousand-year-old songs and somehow everything that stopped is in motion again. It has taken her back suddenly at her surrounding, and the thought that haunts them to their sleep. The Great Calamity has long been defeated, and the night was full of stars but without their moon. It was strange, very strange. The world was dancing in madness now, and they could kiss under the serene million stars far away from war.

Heath taking back his kiss, yet still have his face so close her nose could touch his cheek, “Did you still dream about it?” said him softly.

Surprisingly she felt guilty, guilty of how the world loses its moon, guilty of things will never be the same, “Is it ever occurred to you, the fear, that I could lose you in the battle back then?”

“It’s ended, Zea,” Heathcliff cupped her cheek with his both hands, “rest your head on me, there will be no war and we didn’t have to fight anymore.” For him, it’s all that matters. No matter how many times war haunts him in the place he’d thought he’ll find peace, of how he could never forget the taste of iron and ashes left in his mouth, of how whenever he sees remnants of old time his magic suddenly get distorted, and of how they have stained with blood of hate and vengeance, broken so broken, yet so hopeful. They laugh, even today, but it was never the same laugh before.

But what matter is that he’s here with her. 

She grabbed his hand and kissed its knuckles. Sometimes she did that out of blue. She just wants to let him know that she loves everything of him, and she has been running out of idea of how she going to express that, every day she brought him gifts from the city, every day she tells him he looks beautiful, every day she decorates their house full of flowers to make him smile. She could even watch him babbling about gears and cogs that she never understands just to get drunk on his smile all day. Heathcliff not a type who asks for things, of course, because he already has everything, but if somehow there’s any hole in his heart, she’s ready to fill it with everything she had.

“There’s something I want to show you,” she whispered as pulling him to stand.

Their hands tied like a knot, and as something going to parted it, he grasped it even more. He thought that time as she led them to the great unknown, that there are so many goodbyes he needs to say already, back then all he wished is someone who would never let his hands go. But now he could follow her to the death without that fear anymore.

Down the hill following the river stream, going deep into sun-pierced-forest, their feet crushed twigs and dry leaf. Sometimes Zea stopped in midway to checked for Heathcliff as if he ever leave her side, stopped to pick the prettiest wildflower to tuck it between the other flowers in his flowercrown and telling him that he looks pretty that way, such a little unnecessary thing, Heathcliff thought, she just wants to flirt as usual, but he can’t help to feel his cheek suddenly heating up. In this path he blindly walked with her, he was replaying that little scene over and over again in his head. He’s not used to embarrassing things, but he so used to her.

They ran through the forest and tripping on tree roots, she found none of the fair views of the enchanting forest amused her other than how Heath’s golden hair swept by the chilling wind. As the sunlight danced between the leaves, she led him to a little pond full of wild hyacinth all of it has bloomed pink flowers and pretty hanging leaves as far as the eye can see.

She was told that it was a blooming season, she didn’t know where it leads them, all she knew is she only had her own little wild belief.

And for such a view hidden far depth in an unknown forest, they’ve seen magic before, but not like this.

Heath was looking at it.

And Zea was only looking at Heath.


	2. We are All Children in The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so im trying hard to fix the damn tab but ao3 rlly aint it  
> OR is it me who dont know smh i swear idk how this site works
> 
> the piano in my mind is prelude e minor chopin, just bcs..... i listen to that while writing this wwww

The townspeople of the east were quite peculiar. They have sworn to not mention the Great Calamity for name has power, but it was more of a fear that lingers. Sometimes, they peeked out of their windows to see if the moon still there, and after they assured themselves that it was long gone, they held a feast with the ghosts. Sometimes they sing the tale of Great Sage and the Wizards, but when they see presence of one, they stopped their singing.

Heathcliff thought that it was just so natural of them, to fear the only power that could destroy them, and it was left only in The Witches and The Wizards. The Sage wizards have saved the world. But none of it made any change. He knew he will bear the curse of the weight of the world for the rest of his life the moment he was born, but to him, the curse is a blessing.

It was the curse that brought him to life.

It was the curse that brought him to the love of his life.

He knew better that name may be lost or be forgotten. There are no more things such as Sage’s Wizards, the mysterious sage themself was disappeared long ago. There are no more powerful families of east, even House of Blanchett. It’s all ruin, a drowning dream of past, lost _and_ forgotten. So, how the people looked at him now actually? Did they look at him because of fear or pity?

Zea knew that all along. How’ve the townspeople looked at Heath, and what she hated the most is that how she knew he knew it better. She had the urge to tell these people that they’ve made him used to getting hurt. If that even will make any difference, at least she showed them the deep-aching scars in Heath’s heart. If after that they still not feel any guilt, then they prove themselves a monster they’ve been accused Heath all this time.

She thought she’d better take Heath somewhere else, building the most beautiful castle in entire five kingdoms for him in a seashore cliff, where she could watch him crafted hundred music boxes by the window that overlooked the beaming sunrise, or letting him wears the most pretties attire gracing the castle with his beauty.

But just how many times they have run, far from war and terror, while everyone else begging for their place? After everything, she just wanted to create a world where Heath happy. A world where he didn’t have to hurt anymore.

The age of Great Calamity is over, but it’s still a faraway dream.

As they walked back to the town, the pathway gets narrowed. They didn’t realize that the day almost finished while they spent their time in the forest. Heath was smiling all the way as he admired the wildflowers that he collected in the forest with her. It just a few hours ago when they woke up in the forest hill among the twigs and branches, their feet was bare, their heart and mind were free to wander somewhere else, it’s like they only had each other in this world. And Heathcliff loves the way it sounds.

He kept looking down, just as an excuse to not meet Zea’s eyes because he knew that she stared at him this whole time. It is exhausted for him to get flustered this whole day and he thought he didn’t want to get overwhelmed now that they about to enter the town. People will see them, and he didn’t want to give the townspeople the sight of a poor son from a fallen family desperately trying to live his life, or a haughty wizard having a good time in the time of despair.

Zea loathed the townspeople so much, actually, everyone. She could even wish they didn’t conquer the moon back then, so it would be hanging in every of their darkest night, haunting them forever. She wished the sky will befall on those people who hurt her love, she could go as far as letting the world destroyed and have thousands died if it means to see Heath’s genuine smile again. Heath was happy now actually, anywhere where he’s alone with her, but there are ghosts from the places where others gave him scars, somehow deep in his beautiful eyes.

She stopped suddenly on the pathway meter away from town, and Heath’s finally looked at her, “What about we take the long road?” she asked.

The only long road to their tiny little cottage was the road he wished to never walk again. She should’ve known that already, yet— “No,” he stepped back. “They said no one shall go near the site,” quoted him, though it was his own will.

But Zea grabbed his hands. “I think about this all night,” she started, “you need to show me your darkness, and I’ll show you my madness. If we couldn’t make peace with our demon, then we can’t make peace with ourselves.”

 _I used to it,_ he thought. His shadow is that of a bloody past. Every time he looked himself in the mirror, a monster looks back at him. He asked Zea back then if she still had a bad dream but it was actually him that wake them both at night and crying in her embrace.

But he questioned himself now, what’s bigger, is it his fear or a new dream she put in him? And like every other time where he was too late to decide, Zea already led them far into the long road.

Zea remembered that Heath’s once said that he followed her to death. But right now, she wondered, did she tortured him by keeping them both alive? The skies turned darker now as if answering her question—a rain might fall any time soon and they still so far away from home. But even the world is flooding or burning or ending, she always brings him home. It was her promise.

“It’s been a long time,” Heathcliff muttered, no sadness in his eyes though his hands as cold as ice. The light rain began to fall from the gloom summer sky. Zea knew that he’s trying to control his heart for wizard’s magic came from that. She never would understand the wizard’s feeling, but she read Heath’s many times already.

The world went silent as both of their words buried down their throat, the sight before them was the same sight they left years ago.

They’re at Blanchett Castle.

Or the ruin of Blanchett Castle.

The moment Heathcliff stood there he knew that his soul was still somewhere inside. The ivy-covered stone wall castle was once all the place he knew in the world. He remembered the people he once thought will be here with him forever. It must’ve been his crying soul calling from inside, that his feet walked on its will to the castle.

The townspeople said ghosts live here, but there are no ghosts here, only fallen dreams, and pain, and sorrow.

The castle was heavily destroyed; the hundred years old furniture was broken, the window's glass was shattered, there’s mud, moss, spider webs, dust, and rain fell in his cheek from the hollows in the ceiling. He entered every room, his eyes and finger lightly swept the wall, as if the wall and the roof could hear his hopeless plea.

Back then he hid under the blanket in the rain. Now his heart was hollow, he thought nothing could protect him—until he arrived at the ballroom.

Zea stood there, there’s a very little light from the grey sky, yet there is so many lights in her side. The rain hadn’t stopped any time soon and they both cold. Their clothes and hair all wet yet Zea didn’t seem like she wants to leave.

“Look what I found,” she showed him a tiny little friend, a broken ballerina music box with a blue clear-water dress. And he couldn’t hold it anymore, he wished Zea think that it’s rain on his cheek and not his tears. “Can you fix her?”

“It’s lacking pieces,” he said not knowing she knew that he’s in the middle of crying. “Some of the gears are broken too.”

“But I know you can.” And that’s all she whispered as she locked their eyes together for a moment.

It has taken him back, remembering that it was the eyes he looked at when he decided he needs to survive. For the first time in his life he found the answer, that in a thousand lifetimes, in a thousand age, the curse in him was a blessing.

She has seen his scars, his monster, his darkness, and still think that he shines like gold. She still loves him even when he tastes like pain and war.

Then he said his magic.

“ _Repsev aivulp sunos.”_

On the outside nothing changes. But he knew what he did. He walked to the corner of the ballroom to the broken piano and put his little friend there. The Ballerina did not move at all, but the piano started to play.

_He loves her. He loves her. He loves her._

_And that’s all that matters._

She took his hands and pulled him to her embrace.

And they danced in sheer light of twilight sky to the song of the rain.


	3. The Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ZEATH VALENTINE
> 
> i rushed this bcs i have morning class tomorrow TT

Silent entangler, an essay on dreams. It sounds like a song they’ve never sung. Most softly. Most ardently.

She could still feel the damp in her cheek and hair, surged coldness by the rain. She thought she woke up in the ruined castle, blanketed with ashes and tears from the darkened sky. But she was here, in her warm soft bed basked in the ray of summer sun. There’s dust in the sunlight and memory in the corners. Chills of cold spring remnant filled her lungs.

She was dreaming.

Or so she thought.

The butter-smelled steam and noises of kitchen utensils pulled her to her feet. It was the usual morning in their lovely little wooden cottage by the lake far away from the town. For Heathcliff, it’s a beautiful place, it’s the place where his heart resides, it’s the home of him and everything he ever loves.

Zea loves the lake next to it. The moonkissed lake where all the poet went to die, they said. On the bright noon, she usually lying down on the rusty dock reading old books that tell the tale of five countries, thinking of Heath and imagining one day she could take him once again for a tale of a journey. Around the same time, Heath sits on his workshop in the cottage crafting his clockwork machinery, doing his best, because the thoughts of his silly little automaton sometimes entertain Zea fills him with so much joy.

She noticed another smell came from this bedroom, it was the smell of fresh wildflowers that she and Heath picked from the forest. Scattered on their side table was little white bloodroot and orange marsh marigold, an early spring bloom of eastern forest. Heath loves flowers so much and she just happy that they could get some more. Not like the entire house has already filled with so many roses—his favorite flower, but sometimes, letting whatever Heath wants to do just made her happy.

The couple not actually an early bird, but she’s even worse, at least Heathcliff could wake before the breakfast time ended. She walked, half-asleep, to the bathroom to washed her face, stopped for minutes to hear the birds singing, actually to get rid of her morning sickness. Then arrived at the source of the noise, the kitchen, where Heathcliff warmly greeted her with his green apron on.

“Good morning, Zea,” said him endearingly.

Their kitchen was an intimate one. A brown-green row of cabinets, hanging herbs on the wall, jars of colorful spices from across the countries, roses vase in the corner of the counter, and of course… Heathcliff himself who cut some vegetables.

Usually, it was the pan and the pot that cooked itself. But Heathcliff got to learn to cook by his very hand for special days, like their birthday or their anniversary. Or for festivals that they celebrate with just the two of them. He eventually got to love it, to see the way her eyes sparkling when she first tasted the soup he made, or the way she can’t wait to go home to dine with him. His heart pounding strangely by just sitting with her, yet he has been through this a couple of times.

Zea walked to Heathcliff, positioned herself so close she rested her left hand on the counter locking Heath’s waist between, she could saw the red in his cheek clearly now. Oh, how she loves such a sight. All these flowers never amuse her because she thinks Heathcliff is way prettier. He understood the gesture for him has done this many times already, and turned his head slowly, receiving a warm morning kiss from her.

“What do we have for breakfast?” she asked as she kissed the bare skin on his shoulder. She just loves the warmth that she felt not only when their skin touched, but also the one burning in her heart.

“Just a sweet egg benedict and butter pancake, I know we’ve eaten this very often, I know I think you’re so bored already, but I couldn’t think of—”

“No, I love it,” she responded genuinely. It’s still the biggest mystery in the universe, she thought, of how she’s so intoxicated by him. He could tell her to die and she gladly did it for him. She could overdose herself with eggs if that’s all Heath ever cook and she gladly did it.

Heath giggled. “Move away,” he said lightly, thinking that she’s such a lovestruck idiot but at the same time he’s flattered.

For Heath, he saw her as a person whose mind always flies over the clouds, inscrutable probably, always like her soul belong to ancient romantic age, dreaming at day and night. But he loves her _love_. He falls in love with the way she sees the world. Everything. Everything of her.

“Don’t lick the honey!” he snapped.

As he served the foods on plates with all of his rosy cheeks, he went on thinking of how he can’t fully understand her. Yesterday they danced by the rain, and she whispered in his ears a thousand love words to made him smile again. He wished the mood still carried on all the way to this morning, especially with what they're going through last night. It stills burned in the back of his mind; the embarrassment, excitement, shame, and pleasure all mixed together, got him overwhelmed, to this minute he still felt it.

The feeling must’ve taken him over the moon, he wasn’t himself for a moment, “I think you forgot something,” he started with a very seductive tone.

Zea stopped after attempting to steal the plate away, “Right, I forgot to tell you that I want triple pancake.”

Heath felt his whole face suddenly burning, “I—I won’t give your portion if you didn’t remember!”

“I forgot to tell you… that I want my coffee bitter,” she nodded thinking that she’s right this time, “now—”

He’s trying for one last time as he already felt his throat burning, “Speaks gently to me, speaks only about love.”

Zea stopped halfway, stared blankly, “I want the pancake.”

Sometimes he found it really cute that she struggled with words despite all the poems she ever wrote to him. Or especially the way she’s oblivious to flirts yet being very expert when throwing one herself. But now, he _hates_ her so much.

Heath gave up and let her took the plate, “Don’t talk to me this whole day—"

_She kissed him._

So sudden he heard himself shrieking. She set aside the plate and pressed him to the counter he had to sat on it now.

When wind and winter harden all the loveless land, it will whisper of the garden, they will understand. It’s how the way they knew each other at heart. There are many stories in the rhyme of their heartbeat. Of journey of looking for a place to worship. And the way the world works itself to made it happen.

And that time Heath knew exactly what it is. It’s the way she told stories as she drew invisible starmap in the ceiling with her finger, it’s how she made him believe that _magic_ could come true without magic.

He falls in love with her dreams. And it begins to taste like a poem, like a religion, like the way she looked at him.


End file.
